Roses are Red
by itookalittletrip
Summary: The breath against her face smelled familiarly of alcohol; it was oddly comforting and she couldn't help but be reminded of the days in which she was nothing more than a care-free teenager wrapped around his finger and not caring because he made her believe he loved her; like he was doing now. And god, didn't he do it well?


His fingers had wrapped around her forearm, rooting her in place. There was no-where to hide, no possible way to escape this situation. He smiled, revealing his teeth and Fantine shrinked back to which he responded by pulling her back. His fingers weren't rough; they were as gentle as she remembered and that same, familiar tingling ran up her spine.

_No_.

This wasn't what was supposed to happen; Fantine hadn't factored in this narrative, she had trusted Valjean so completely. After all, the adopted father of her daughter had assured her Paris was a busy place— the chance of running into Tholomyès was slim, _impossible_. Looking back now, perhaps Fantine believed him because she wanted nothing more than for Valjean's words to hold true.

Except Tholomyès' fingers had found her cheek, his head tilting to the side as he expected her with those blue eyes that were horribly inviting.

_No_.

She had spent years playing this situation over in her head. She would ignore him, pretend he didn't exist like he had done with herself and their daughter. She would receive a stinging palm after gifting him a firm and intentional slap.

Except she paused for slightly too long, like a deer at the end of a hunter's rifle, and he had abused her weakness. His long fingers came to play with an unruly curl and somewhere between the buzzing in her ears, she can hear him complement her hair— how it's atill as golden as he remembers it.

-x-

In the week that followed, Fantine didn't dare breathe a word about this interaction with this ghost from her past to anyone. Instead, she went out to the market as she did every morning, her basket dutifully hanging over her arm and resting against her torso. Valjean let her go alone, agreed that everyone needed time to themselves every now and then, and so he hadn't noticed anything different with Fantine; even as her heart rested in her mouth and she believed herself struggling to talk.

Still, the flowers had caught her attention and her own, dainty, fingers had begun searching the florist's stock before a stranger's fingers had joined her own.

She refused to look up, she had refused to believe what happened last week was true, but such efforts were beginning to establish themselves as futile. Snatching her hand back to her side, she lifted her chin with narrowed eyes and glared at Tholomyès with unbridled anger. He had never been good with getting the hint.

It still seemed that he struggled with that; so much so that, with the added audacity of daring to speak her name, she was greeted by a small bouquet of roses.

His smile made her sick.

But the eyes of the florist forced her hand to accept them. When she returned home she had lied to Valjean, told him she had purchased the flowers. He didn't have to know that roses had always been her favourite flower.

-x-

Fantine had not seen him follow her home— he must have done in order to be waiting for her the week after. She was still keeping up appearances at home, smiling in all the right places, keeping her anguish for the pillow at night. She was the perfect house wife (for all intents and purposes).

His arm was offered to her, another rose following close after. It was stupid of her to accept either of them let alone _both_, but Fantine's biggest strength was also her biggest weakness.

He had changed… even though he hadn't verbally apologised, these small actions were proof of an apology, no?

She had forgiven him.

It started by allowing him back into house where he asked about the 'white haired fellow' who she assured was not her husband. When he asked about Cosette her teeth clenched. Marius did not know and Marius_ would_ not know. With a glass of whiskey held in his left hand he agreed not to approach either Marius or Cosette, but Fantine couldn't ignore the step he took towards her.

_No_.

The breath against her face smelled familiarly of alcohol; it was oddly comforting and she couldn't help but be reminded of the days in which she was nothing more than a care-free teenager wrapped around his finger and not caring because he made her believe he loved her.

Like he was doing now.

And _god_, didn't he do it _well_?

-x-

Her shoulders had found the wall of her bedroom after hurriedly locking the door; his smile informed her that he had spotted the vase of roses placed on top her vanity. Her attention wasn't on them for very long.

Impatient fingers worked at the material of her dress and hot, open mouthed kisses graced her neck and collabones.

_No_.

She couldn't let him do this… she…

_Ah_.

-x-

Valjean had timed his intervention well. Just when Fantine had thought this affair of hers had gone unnoticed, Valjean had asked at supper who the man was that he saw leaving from the back entrance of the house every week.

By the time Fantine had decided to stir her soup, it had gone cold.

He didn't need an imagination to understand what had been going on, he simply needed to know _who_. The embarrassment which simmered under the surface and made her face hot translated into tears when finally, Valjean uttered Tholomyès' name.

Valjean did not have to verbalise what she believed to be his disappointment. Even with a hung head, she saw him leave the room from the corner of her eye, the sound of his shoes against the floorboard echoing long after the door had closed behind him.

-x-

Fantine had not asked Valjean what he had done and Valjean had not indulged her either. Cosette's father was alive, Fantine knew Valjean wouldn't do anything fatal.

Except now when she went to the market, Valjean went with her and on those rare occassions in which she did see Tholomyès, it was nothing more than a glance. With Valjean by her side, he faded quickly once more into surrounding sea of people.

The florist tried to catch her attention with a bouquet of roses, but unknown to her, roses were no longer Fantine's favourite flower.


End file.
